


Drowning, Metaphorically

by Aewin



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asphyxiation, Begging, Bulges and Nooks, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drugged Sex, F/M, Face-Fucking, Gaslighting, Negotiations, Partial Mind Control, Sex Slavery, Sex Tapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-03 00:02:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15807240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aewin/pseuds/Aewin
Summary: The Signless has always been foolishly idealistic, but one rather large mistake could smear his name and tear his rebellion apart.Of course, it's the one mistake he makes.





	Drowning, Metaphorically

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wallEyEllaw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallEyEllaw/gifts).



> Enjoy, fellow sinner ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You didn't think she'd come. And alone no less, casually leaning against a wall and flicking her finger against some device in her palm as if it's an everyday occurrence for the tyrant queen to mingle with the mere peasantry she disdains. But the street is deserted anyways - likely because she's here.

It's a little disconcerting, even though you were the one that requested this meeting. But you'll make the first move here, as you did when you sent your request to meet. It took two sweeps for it to filter up the chain of command from the low-level officer you were actually able to contact, but slowly navigating bureaucracy is nothing compared to a genuine chance to change the empire.

You lower your hood, and she shifts to look directly at you, sending light cascading from her tacky jewelry. Her hair is a mess from the wind, though you suspect it might always be like this.

“Hello, Meenah.”

She snorts and snaps her clam-shaped device shut, shoving it in a slit in her bodysuit that's so tight you can still see the outline.

“And where the shell did you hear that one? Been a few centuries, was shore I stamped that out.”

You smile wryly, justified in your guess that the mention would gall her. “Let's say I've got some friends that are quite familiar with digging up information that doesn't want to be found. Nothing ever truly disappears from the trollnet, no matter how much you want memories to go away.”

She snorts, shaking her head, and gestures for you to walk to her ship. “Remind me to get someone on that.”

“I'm hardly the one to assist in erasing signs of dissent.”

Her lazy, acknowledging nod is unexpected, and she stands at a surprisingly comfortable distance. You'd been afraid you were going to turn into a cluckbeast the moment you actually met her, but she's terrifyingly... _normal_ , despite the clinking jewelry. Clear control issues, which isn't a surprise. Most trolls have them, but you know they can be overcome, given the progress of the rebels back at your camp.

(And your friends are seriously not going to be happy with you walking off with the Condesce without letting them know, but you have to do this alone. You can't let them risk their lives, not when you're the only one she'll talk to in the first place.)

The two of you walk in oddly-comfortable silence until you reach her ship. A pair of guards in dark blue suits move forward, presumably to grab you and haul you in, but she flicks a hand at them in clear disgust.

“If I wanted you to grab him, I'd say so, wouldn't I? He's our guest, show some respect.”

She leads you to a room not far inside, and you're suddenly not so sure you _didn't_ make a mistake by requesting this. The hallway looked perfectly normal, if unnaturally austere, but this... _this_ is the exact opposite. It's full of clutter, some of it dusty, but all clearly of questionable origin. Some of it is showcased in display pods, various skulls and pieces of technology you don't recognize. The room is well-lit, but the air is somewhat foggy, like someone was recently smoking in it. Everything smells strongly of chlorine. And of all things, there's a pool in the back. What kind of ostentatious highblood wet dream is this? Something about it is _wrong._

"Like it?” The voice is right next to your ear, and your pulse quickens. Thankfully you don't jump. You can't let her know she's got you tense.

“It's, ah. A little different than I would have chosen, but to each their own.” You try not to give away the disgust you feel at what looks like a mounted lusus head on a wall.

“Mmm, fair. I suppose plumbing in your guest room is more of a highblood thing.” She turns to a machine recessed in the wall. “Would you like a drink? I personally like the Annyan tea, but we have anything you like.”

You have no idea what that is. Another relic from a conquered - or extinct - culture, you presume. But showing an interest in things she enjoys is a good way to get closer, see what makes her tick, exploit that to gain leverage. And it's just tea, after all.

“Always happy to try new things. Appreciating new ideas is why we're talking today, after all.” You give her the friendliest smile you can, given the situation.

“Excellent.” The machine beeps, and she takes two cups from a compartment that clicks open. It looks slimy, but bottoms-up, you suppose. All in the name of negotiations. It tastes like burned grass smells. Disgusting. But you've had worse, on the run. And boiled greenery does, technically, count as tea. But it occurs to you that the Empress herself just personally served it to you, and that sense of unease creeps back in. Something is _definitely_ wrong. You may have convinced her to meet, but is there truly a single person in the galaxy that she would willingly serve in _any_ capacity?

She crosses her legs as she sits down in a chair nearby, setting her tea down on the table. “So. I assume you want to discuss some changes in the way I run things around here. I do so love it when my inferiors tell me how to do my job.”

You take another sip of tea - which tastes much sweeter this time around; perhaps it simply needed time to settle? - and ignore the jab. “Let's start with a truce and work from there. In the name of starting amicably, please state some of the things _you_ might want from _us_.” Hopefully she doesn't recognize this as the probe it is - everybody knows the things she can do to make life better for Alternians, but what could you possibly have that she couldn't already take?

Her fins flutter briefly, and you stare. Wow, those are nice, why did you never notice _that_ in all the propaganda streams? Well. Growing up mostly in caves, you didn't see any until you were older, but still - you're sure you'd remember sighing over _those!_

Talking. Right. You zone back in just in time to hear her start talking. You think. Did you miss something?

“Before we can really get started here, I need to have proof you're who you say you are. I wanna see that special little hue.” She smiles, leaning forward eagerly. How many teeth does she _have_?

It's just a little pain to kick off negotiations that could save so much _more_ pain, but - of course you don't have a knife, you were coming to see the empress. “Do you - do you have a knife or - or something else that might - “ There. Now you're stuttering. You knew you would. And a headache is creeping in.

“Oh no, not your _blood._ Pail me. Show me that pretty little cherry-red slurry, and we'll go from there.”

Your bloodpusher beats harder, but you can't deny she's - she's something else, with the height and the fins and the teeth and the horns and the sheer _history_ and _awe_ behind her, and the - your bulge is out, nook pulsing, when did that happen? You're acting like you're seven sweeps old. Something is off, you're dizzy and your head hurts and your bloodpusher might well explode if she touches you, but oh god, you're seeing through a haze, and _nostopdon't_ -

“Please pail me,” you choke out. It feels _off_ that it's what you want, but you do.

“Of course.”

She gingerly places her clam-shaped electronic device on her chair, paying no heed to it as it unclasps. Then she advances, kicking the table aside with ease and looming over you, and fuck, she is gorgeous and you want her inside you _now_.

_“Please_.” Another plea, another word that doesn't seem like your own.

“Well somebody's impatient,” she chides. “Get those clothes off.”

You struggle to comply, cursing your buttons for being so unwieldy. She watches, raising an eyebrow at your writhing bulge and dripping nook - god, half your leg is stained with fluid already, dripping onto the chair - and the second you kick your pants free of your feet she swoops in and swaps your positions, lifting you out of the chair like you weigh nothing.

She gestures at her bodysuit. “My turn, dearest delectable morsel.”

It's clear that she wants you to strip her down too, and ( _no, no, no_ ) it's all you've ever wanted. You fall to your knees and fumble until you find a zipper cleverly hidden down the very center of the suit, starting at her neck. You start there and slowly kiss downward as you part the suit open. The divot of her clavicle. A perky breast, fuchsia nipples hard and round. The soft swell of her stomach. The slightest hint of genetic material before she pushes you away.

The design won't let the suit come off fully without intricate movements, but she seems content to take care of that herself, using her knee to lift your head as a sign that you should stand again. By some esoteric mechanism, she pulls at zippers and kicks off her suit. As you look at the naked empress before you, the only thing you can think is _why? why this? why you_?

She has multiple fuchsia bulges, each with tiny frills, and you have no idea how you are going to be able to cram all of those into your poor nook. But she circles you like prey, pauses behind you, ( _is she going to kill you? death by pailing? can that happen?_ ), and grabs the underside of your thighs, lifting you easily. She's so _strong_. Your back is pressed to her rumblespheres, legs splayed open with nook on display, bulge wriggling greedily against the open air.

Her bulges tickle up against your wastechute and nook. Then she drops you down a small bit, opening your legs further, and the bulges wriggle into you, at least five of them on the first thrust. She's so tall that even with you dropped like this, your head doesn't quite reach her chin. She uses it to her advantage, lowering her mouth and flicking out her unnaturally long tongue against a horn.

_“Ahh!”_ It's half scream, half moan, and your body convulses as she keeps licking away at it, before moving to the other. Your overwhelmed thrashing pushes her further into you, the furthest she _can_ go, and her other tentacles stuff themselves into your chute. You've never done this. You've never wanted to. You cry out in anguish.

“That's it,” she coos. “Tell me how much ya like it.”

You want to throw up, because you can sense what's coming next, and it's the most horrible mix of words and feelings.

“Empress, please fuck me like rustblood trash!” And the words are _wrong_ , you would never say them if whatever she's done wasn't happening, but your body responds like they are. Your bulge twists and curls as your nook is pounded, you're guilty, you're terrible, you're unforgivable. If you really didn't want this, you would have been able to resist.

But you can't, and your words come out as “please, harder, use me as your pail!” instead of the “please, let me go, help my people!” they should be.

Her jewelry bites into your sides as she bounces you on her bulges, pinching at your grubscars. It takes almost no time at all before a particularly deep bulge-flick makes you cry out, shaking, and your genebladder flutters hard and lets loose. Your genetic material spurts out hard, some even splashing far enough to reach the table that was so carelessly kicked aside.

She moans loudly. “Ohhhh yes, _there's_ my favorite shade of red. Gets me every time.”

Every time?

You don't have much time to think on that before she lifts you up again, then brings you to your knees in front of her. You're spending a lot of time on your knees for her, and you _don't like it_. Her hand tangles through her bulges as she tugs you forward and makes you slurp between them loudly. 

Your tongue quickly hits some sort of sensitive point, and she threads her fingers roughly into your hair while suctioning your face with her bulges. You can't breathe, but you also can't fight it, and you get even weaker without enough air. It's terribly ironic that you wanted to free the empire from her yoke, but are now fully under her control. 

Even though you can't be providing much in the way of stimulation, she's taking what she wants, rocking against your face for purely physical touch on that sweet spot until she pulls back, rolls her hand between her bulges and squeezes one more time, and paints you in streaks of fuchsia. It drips down your face and impedes the process of catching up on air. You cough a few times to clear your throat.

“Thank you, Empress.” It comes out rough from a combination of breathlessness and fluids caught in your throat.

She laughs coyly. “After all these times, you're still so polite! It was no problem at all, darling.” She bends imperiously, pulls you until you're standing against her, and kisses you passionately like you're on the cover of a romance novel. You're more taken aback by this than anything else she's done.

She holds the pose for a few seconds and then drops you unceremoniously. Your kneecaps pound against the floor yet again, and you wince.

“Pool's over there, clean your disgusting self off. It's up to you whether you wanna do it before or after cleaning the room - I'd say you've negotiated that much.” She pushes a button near the door that beeps twice before admitting a guard that seems unfazed by her nudity. Has she done this to people before? The thought makes you want to retch, possibly even more than your own violation.

“Grab the clammunicator over there." She points at the chair she left it in, and your bloodpusher plummets. "Edit it and leak the video around the trollnet, especially where rebels are likely to see it. If they think he's been in the 'coon with the enemy, it'll dissolve their little movement nice an' fast.”

Some more of the fog lifts from your mind. What just happened? Was it the tea? Some sort of psionic manipulation? You're an idiot.

She snaps her fingers in front of you, and you realize that you've been staring into space, dripping her fluids, for minutes now. Long enough that she's dressed again, anyways.

“Thanks for the reminder, grubling. Honestly wasn't sure _what_ to do with ya, seriously thought you'd be dyin' instead of bein' my new slave. Between me and the crew we'll get you nice and stretched out soon.” She grins, showing those terrible eldritch teeth. “Let's see how good those hackers of yours are at _suppressing_ a video, eh?”

You close your eyes and shudder at the implications of 'her crew.' You have the sinking feeling that you're going to be here for a long, long time.


End file.
